


Kise Grows Up

by andreaphobia



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: AU, Crush, Fluff, Growing Up, Happi Endo, Kids, Love, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Pining, Teeth-Rotting Cavity-Inducing Fluff, Texting, sap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-19
Updated: 2012-08-19
Packaged: 2017-11-12 10:35:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/489935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andreaphobia/pseuds/andreaphobia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the tender age of four, Kise Ryouta proposes to his nursery school teacher—and it's all downhill from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kise Grows Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [highboys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/highboys/gifts).



> Inspired by highboys and Japanese fanart of Kuroko the adorable nursery school teacher. Edited some since the first time.

 

At the tender age of four, Ryouta proposes to his nursery school teacher’s assistant with a fistful of flowers and his most charming smile.  
  
It’s not like it’s a big deal or anything (although it must be said that his mother never, _ever_ lets him forget it). "Kuroko-kun", as she’s fond of calling him, is a little over ten years older than Ryouta and just starting high school. He’s quiet and unassuming, but exceedingly polite, not to mention incredible with kids; indeed, she’s never seen her son quite so smitten with anyone before.  
  
(None of them know quite how suitable that word is until later, but, well—that comes later.)  
  
So, while the other boys are busy rough-housing on the lawn, Ryouta spends his morning picking tiny flowers—clovers, sprigs of goldenrod and baby’s breath—and clumsily arranges them into a bouquet, as best he can. These he presents to Kuroko with a flourish, as Kuroko kneels behind Satsuki, stubbornly trying to work a comb through her hair.  
  
“Kurokocchi!” he cries, his face on fire. “Will you please marry me?!”  
  
Kuroko blinks, the comb slipping from his fingers. He leans down to pick it up, which then brings him face-to-face with Ryouta and the little bunch of flowers.  
  
“Ryouta-kun can’t marry anyone yet,” he says, matter-of-factly. “You have to be older first.”  
  
“Ehhh?!” Ryouta cries, dismayed. This is the first he’s ever heard of that; every time he’s seen it on TV, the girl being proposed to let out an ear-splitting squeal and jumped into their new husband’s arms. He’s even been practicing for that, training his arm strength by carrying a very tolerant Tetsuya Nigou around the playground—you wouldn’t think that was hard, but he’s a pudgy little bastard.  
  
“So I have to wait?” Ryouta asks, in a plaintive, wheedling sort of voice, like _couldn’t Kurokocchi pleeeeeeease bend the laws for him just this once?_  
  
“Yes,” Kuroko tells him, regretfully.  
  
(Still, though, he takes the handful of flowers from Ryouta with a smile, and goes round with it in his apron pocket for the rest of the day.)  
  
\- - -  
  
(The thing that Ryouta will always remember, afterwards—the vague, half-forgotten memory that gives him hope for over a decade—is that Kuroko never actually said _no_.)  
  
\- - -  
  
At age six, Ryouta enters the first grade. Daiki is in his class, and Satsuki too—though thankfully not that red-haired boy with the frightening mismatched eyes; he gave Ryouta the heebie-jeebies. It’s fun being together with them and all, but Kuroko isn’t their teacher anymore, and so the classes—whether they’re about the alphabet or arithmetic—fail to hold Ryouta’s attention in any capacity.

That first day he gets home from school, his mother tells him,

“Kuroko-kun came by to see you.”

“Really?!” he asks, forgetting all about how he fell down in the playground and skinned his knee, and how Daiki stole one of his octopus wieners from his lunchbox and ate it without even asking like the big jerk he is.

“Nn,” she says. She washes her hands, then reaches for something on the counter where he can’t see, and tips it down to him. “He brought this for you.”

It’s a red plush toy; no ostentatious packaging, just a ribbon tied round it in a bow.

“Why a lobster, though?” his mother wonders, aloud, as she returns to making lunch. But Ryouta doesn’t care; he stares at it, sparkling brighter than the sun, and cuddles it to sleep that night. And the next, and the next. (And when he gets too old to sleep with a stuffed toy, he sets it on his dresser so it can still be near him. Maybe it’s sappy, but it’s his first-ever gift from Kuroko; he thinks if he doesn’t treasure it properly, then he never deserves to receive another one.)  
  
\- - -  
  
Four years later, at the age of ten, Ryouta’s a complete basketball idiot. That’s probably due to Daiki’s influence; that boy’s interest has transcended mere obsession, being more on the level of neurosis—a basketball idiot-savant, if you will. They’ve fallen into the habit of playing one-on-one, on the kiddy courts in their neighborhood park, with a ball that Satsuki gave them for Christmas that unofficially belongs to both of them.

It’s unusual for him to be doing this, but today, just this once, he’s giving it his all, instead of just letting Daiki steamroll him and then learning from him, trying to mimic his techniques. This time, at least, he simply _has_ to win.

(That might have something to do with how Kuroko is watching them—or, well, it might not.)

Kuroko is twenty now—a college student, _far_ too old to be spending time with a couple of neighborhood brats. But on rare occasions—like, say study breaks—he’ll scrape together a couple of hours from his precious free time to just... well, hang out with them. He’s taller now than ever before, Ryouta thinks, vaguely, although it doesn’t seem like he’s grown in a while. And he’s still taller than Ryouta and Daiki, of course, though he doesn’t quite tower over them like he used to.

Maybe one day he’ll be as tall as Kuroko. Or taller, even.

(He’s not sure why he likes that idea, but he does.)

With Kuroko watching patiently from the sidelines, Ryouta loses five to three—thrice in a row. But afterwards Kuroko comes over and ruffles their hair, which makes him feel better, and then they go out for burgers and shakes. Feeding and watering two growing boys on a college student’s budget is tough, but he manages. And after that he sends them home; Daiki first, since it’s on the way, and then Ryouta next. They say their goodbyes at the gate, and Kuroko’s nearly halfway down the street before Ryouta manages to gather up the nerve to call out to him.

“Kurokocchi!”

Kuroko looks back, puzzled. Ryouta braces himself, swallowing around the lump in his throat.

“Next time,” he says, loudly, desperately trying to inject some confidence he definitely doesn't feel into his voice, “I’ll definitely win!”

At that, Kuroko just blinks, and then smiles. It’s that secretive smile; the one that Ryouta sometimes flatters himself into thinking is only for him.

“Mmn,” he calls back. “Then, I’ll look forward to it.”

Ryouta flushes.

“You’d better!” he laughs, and then dashes into the house, shutting the door behind him. Once he’s inside, he scrubs at his face, willing it to stop burning before he goes into the living room. He doesn’t really understand what these feelings are, still, but he’s starting to have an inkling—or perhaps he’s just in denial. (One thing’s for sure, though: he’s in trouble, no matter how you slice it.)  
  
\- - -  
  
And then, at the age of twelve, Ryouta discovers masturbation.

It’s like this—the other boys in school won’t stop talking about girls and sex and things like that, and Ryouta, he just doesn’t want to be left out. One boy steals a titty magazine from his dad and smuggles it to school, and they all crowd round him at lunch to stare in awe at... well... _breasts_.  
Ryouta joins them, although he’s not sure what all the fuss is about. Privately he’s just glad he doesn’t have any himself, since they look like they’d get in the way of playing basketball. Nevertheless, everyone else is fascinated by them—their roundness, their fullness, their... _squishiness_ —and he doesn’t want to be the only one who isn’t. So he nods along, playing the part of the knowledgeable insider while trying not to draw attention to himself so nobody reads his mind and discovers that he hasn’t the faintest idea what they’re talking about.

“Hey, Kise,” someone asks him, teasing, “are you going to go home and jerk off to this, later?”

“Oh, sure,” he says, trying to sound casual. What is jerking off, he wonders. Is it like pulling out your hair?

Afterwards he goes home and looks it up surreptitiously on the family computer, while listening very carefully for the sound of footsteps down the hallway. So apparently you just touch your thingy until stuff comes out. Part of him wonders if it’s like peeing or something. He’s not sure, so he tries it out in the bathroom, standing over the loo with his pants around his ankles.

It’s awkward when he starts, but at the same time it’s not like it feels bad, and then it rapidly starts feeling better and better; and at first he’s not really thinking about anything at all, then he tries to think about those girls in the titty mag, but that doesn’t really do anything for him so he casts his net wider, he thinks about dribbling on the court, cutting past Daiki, he thinks about the boys in the locker room changing, and then that makes him think about Kuroko, Kuroko’s eyes on his, Kuroko’s fingers threading through his hair, Kuroko’s small, secretive little smile—

After it’s all over, he looks at the sticky mess on his hand with glazed eyes. Oh. He managed it after all. There’s a couple of droplets spilled on the seat of the loo; he wipes it clean, distractedly, with a small scrap of toilet paper.

He doesn’t realize the significance of all that until later, but really, sometimes he wishes he never had. After all, it hurt less before he understood.  
  
\- - -  
  
Shortly after that, Ryouta hits his growth spurt, which for a while leaves him lanky and awkward and long-limbed, like a newborn giraffe. At the age of fourteen he’s barely half a head shorter than Kuroko, and gaining fast.

“Soon I’ll be taller than Kurokocchi!” he exclaims one day, gleefully.

“Is that so?” Kuroko answers, not sounding particularly bothered by it at all. “Maybe I should get you something to celebrate that occasion. What would Ryouta-kun like?”

 _I want to kiss you_ , Ryouta nearly blurts out. Instead he bites it back, swallows hard and smiles like a reflex.  Kuroko looks at him a tad strangely, but makes no comment.

“A-ah, that won’t be necessary, Kurokocchi,” he falters, trying to laugh it off.

Kuroko raises his eyebrows, but tactfully doesn’t mention how weird Ryouta is being.

“...We’ll decide when you get there, then,” he says, and ruffles Ryouta’s hair. Ryouta ruffles his back, which makes Kuroko laugh—really laugh, out loud, bubbling forth in an outburst that startles them both. Ryouta tries his best not to stare, but it’s hard. (Later, he thinks if he was the only one to ever make Kuroko laugh like that, he could probably consider that his life’s greatest accomplishment.)

\- - -

Kise Ryouta, now sixteen years old, has become a veritable heartthrob.

On Valentine’s day, he receives more chocolates than any sane person could hope to consume in a year; these he distributes, sheepishly, to the rest of the basketball team, who might resent him for his popularity, but not enough to say no to free chocolate. On school outings, he fields far more than his fair share of awkward confessions, each of which he turns down with sincere, yet somehow practiced, regret.

On his birthday, he receives text messages from every number in his address book save one. After dinner out with his friends, he goes home, showers, and lies on his bed, rolling about restlessly and waiting.

And waiting.

Eventually, he drifts off, his sleepiness strong-arming his disappointment out of the way.

At five minutes past midnight, his phone goes off. He startles away, drops his phone, swipes it back up off the floor and checks his inbox. One new message. He opens it.

 _Happy birthday, Ryouta-kun_ , it reads. _Sorry this is late. If you’re still awake, please let me know so I can tell you in person._

 _I’m awake!_ Ryouta texts back, so hastily that he stubs his thumb on the keys. He sucks on the pad of it fretfully, rolling onto his back and holding his phone up over his face at arm’s length, staring at it.

Twenty seconds later, it rings. Ryouta smiles to himself, and answers.

\- - -

Two years after that, Ryouta’s headed off to college.

He doesn’t _really_ want to go. Not exactly. Although he does, because education is important and all that. It’s just...

It’s complicated that way.

The evening after he finishes packing he swings by Kuroko’s place, trotting up to the door to ring the doorbell. No one answers, but he’s not surprised by that; Kuroko tends to work late. He’s always been a hard worker, and Ryouta admires him for that.

These days they only see each other in the evenings, if at all, but it’s good enough as it is. It’s good enough that he can come by Kuroko’s house and loll around on the living room floor doing his homework while Kuroko watches TV, or have supper with him, or watch a movie and gorge on popcorn...

That was enough, but now, he’s leaving.

(What will he have left, once he’s gone?)

At any rate, he plops himself down on the doorstep to wait. He’s busy fiddling with his phone when Kuroko arrives, materializing by his side in that peculiar way that he has.

“Texting your girlfriend, Ryouta-kun?” he says, breathing against Ryouta’s ear. Ryouta jumps about a foot straight up in the air, and then bursts out laughing.

“Kurokocchi, you surprised me!”

Kuroko says nothing, but the satisfied expression on his face indicates that that was his intention. He sits down on the step next to Ryouta, and Ryouta slings an arm round his shoulders, casual as anything. _Casual_ , he repeats in his head, over and over again, _casual and friendly_. Friends do this sort of thing all the time, right?

“...So, Ryouta-kun’s leaving tomorrow,” Kuroko begins. He has a distinct talent for cutting right to the heart of things, which is especially useful when he’s paired with Ryouta, who has a tendency to beat around the bush. It’s good that Kuroko understands him, he thinks, even as his heart clenches a little. Still, he pastes on a smile. Best foot forward and all that.

“Nn! I’ll be driving up with my dad in the morning,” he says.

“And Ryouta-kun has my number, right?”

This seems like something of a non-sequitur to Ryouta, but he nods again.

“Nn.”

“And you’ll come back to visit, right?”

“...Nn.”

“Good,” Kuroko declares, and kisses him. It’s startlingly good for a first kiss, although that’s probably just Ryouta talking out of his ass, since he doesn’t have any others to compare it to. Also, it goes on for a period of time which far exceeds Ryouta’s expectations. That's not to say it isn't good; in fact it's brilliant and Ryouta never ever wants it to end.

Unfortunately, it does.

“That was my first kiss,” is the first thing out of Ryouta’s mouth, when it’s over.

Kuroko blinks.

“Oh... I’m sorry,” he starts to say, only Ryouta’s thrown arms around him and is hugging him tightly enough to compress all the air out of his lungs. Kuroko thumps him on the back spastically until he lets up, and then manages a smile, although he might be wheezing a little.

“If Ryouta-kun waits for me,” Kuroko manages, “I’ll wait for him.”

“I’ll wait,” Ryouta blubbers, trying not to sound too watery (and failing). “I’ll wait forever.”

Kuroko smiles, then, and kisses him again. It’s enough.

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to make the age gap as possible to be less skeezy. Sorry if it still skeezed you out.
> 
> (Also I know those flowers might not be native to Japan. Cut me some slack, what do you think I am, a flowerologist???)
> 
> Comments and kudos appreciated!


End file.
